used to dominating women in every sense imaginable. Conveniently forgotten was his own mother, who had controlled him completely by keeping him locked in a closet where rats had eaten three of his toes before he fought back, first by ragefully biting off their heads, then by killing his mother. He despised her so thoroughly that he had expunged her from both his consciousness and his memory. What glimpses remained were scenes from a cheap and grainy film he had seen when young.
And yet it had been his mother who had led him to view women through a particular lens. He flirted relentlessly. He felt only contempt for those who succumbed to his masculine charms. These he chewed up and threw away the moment he became bored with them. On those rare occasions when he encountered resistance - Tracy, Devra, the DJ he had met in Sevastopol, and now Soraya - he reacted differently, less surely, and doubt in himself had crept in like a fog, resulting in failure. He had failed to see through Tracy's facade; he had failed to protect Devra. And with Soraya? He didn't yet know, but he could not stop thinking about what she had said about his life being a struggle to be a man, not an animal. There was a time when he would have laughed at anyone who made such an accusation, but something had changed in him. For better or for worse he had become self-aware, and this self-awareness lent him the certainty that what she said wasn't an accusation at all, but a statement of fact.
All this went through his mind as he and Soraya drove to Tineghir. It had been chilly enough in Marrakech, but here in the snowbound High Atlas an icy wind knifed through the canyons, flooding the wadi with frozen air.
"We're coming to the end of the road," he said.
Soraya did not reply; she hadn't said a word for the entire car ride.
"Have you nothing more to say?"
His tone was deliberately mocking, but she just smiled at him and looked out the window. This abrupt change in her demeanor disturbed him, but he was unsure what to do about it. He couldn't seduce her and he couldn't browbeat her. What was left?
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the tall figure - too tall to be Berber - in a black-and-brown-striped thobe. The hood shadowed his face, but as the car moved past, he could see that there was no disfigurement. The figure moved with Oserov's gait, but how could it be him?
"Soraya, do you see that man in the black-and-brown thobe?"
She nodded.
He stopped the car. "Get out here and approach him. Do whatever you have to do. I want you to find out if he's Russian, and if he is, whether his name is Oserov. Vylacheslav Germanovich Oserov."
"And?"
"I'll be sitting right here, watching. If it's Oserov, give me a signal," he said, "so I can kill him."
She gave him an enigmatic smile. "I was wondering when I'd see it again."
"What?"
"Your rage."
"You don't know what Oserov has done; you don't know what he's capable of."
"It doesn't matter." She opened the car door and climbed out. "I've seen what you're capable of."
Soraya carefully picked her way through the teeming street toward the tall man in the black-and-brown thobe. The key for her, she knew, was to remain calm and to keep her wits about her. Arkadin had outmaneuvered her once; she wasn't going to get caught out like that again. There were a number of times during the drive to Tineghir when she had calculated she had a chance of escaping, but for two reasons she never made the move. The first was that she had no real confidence that she could elude Arkadin. The second, and more important, was that she had vowed to herself that she would not abandon Jason. He had saved her life more than once. No matter what malicious stories recirculated within CI about him, she knew she could count on him for anything and everything. Now that his life was in imminent danger, she would not run away and hide. More to the point, she had to do something to change Arkadin's immediate trajectory.
Approaching the man, she began to speak to him in Egyptian-inflected Arabic. At first, he ignored her. It was possible that in the street hubbub he did not hear her, or thought she was speaking to someone else. She moved around so that she stood